


A blind leading a short-sighted

by solrosan



Series: Look how you care for them [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Additional Warnings Apply, Drug Addiction, Gen, Pre-Season/Series 02, Sherlock Holmes is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solrosan/pseuds/solrosan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Jim's traumatism, Molly develops a sleeping pill addiction. Sherlock notices and talks to her, addict to addict.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A blind leading a short-sighted

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in August 2011 for [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/10852.html?thread=55174244#t55174244). Some changes have been made since the prompt fill.

”Is she okay?” 

Sherlock looked up from the microscope. John seemed to be looking at something on the other side of the closed door.

“Who?” Sherlock asked, really not interested, but he had learned that if he played along with John’s need for small talk now and then it was easier to get him to shut up when it was really important.

“Molly,” John said, sounding irritated. 

Sherlock frowned. Why was John upset with him this time? It had been a legit question. How could he possible known which “she” John had been referring to? Sherlock didn’t bother answering and went back to the microscope. 

“She was involved with Moriarty, you know – even if you tried to end it. Does she even know he was the one playing with you? That he was the one almost killing us? She fancied you, you know. Still fancies you, I think.”

Of course Sherlock knew that. Who was the consulting detective? It wasn’t John H. Watson, that’s for sure. Had it been, then John wouldn’t have to ask if Molly was all right.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes,” Sherlock muttered. “You’re almost impossible to ignore when you’re in this mood.”

“Well… Good.”

Sherlock could hear that John wasn’t sure if he’d just been insulted or not. It was rather fun making him insecure like that. 

“Maybe we should talk to her?”

“Leave her alone,” Sherlock said calmly, changing the sample under the lens.

“She’s a friend, Sherlock,” John said in his most lecturing voice.

“I know that,” Sherlock said. No one else would let him take body parts from the morgue and if that wasn’t friendship Sherlock didn’t know what was.

“Sherlock.”

“Leave it.” Sherlock turned his head from the microscope to meet John’s eye. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, but you do?” John’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. Sherlock found it rather insulting.

“Yes, I do,” Sherlock said. “Just leave her alone.”

“But, Sherlock!”

“Trust me, John. You don’t understand this.” 

Sherlock realised that John wouldn’t let it go if he didn’t promise – out loud – that he was going to do something. Did John really think he cared so little about other people? Well, claiming to be a sociopath might make people believe that. Of course he would talk to Molly. When the time was right. Hopefully she’d work it out by herself, seek out the right people to help her. It was always better if one managed it on one’s own. But he’d be there for her, if she needed him, even if he hardly believed himself to be one of those “right people”.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise,” Sherlock said, meeting John’s eyes. “When and how I deem fit.”

“Okay, just don’t wait too long.”

Sherlock looked back into the microscope; he would never wait too long but he had just gathered all the information he needed. John had the heart in the right place, he always had, but as someone whose worst addictions were caffeine and ugly jumpers he could never really understand. His sister’s alcohol abuse could actually even make him worse than someone who had no experience with real addictions at all. It would make him emotionally involved in a negative way from the start without seeing Molly’s side. No, Molly would be better off if John just stayed away from her for now. Even if he meant well.

* * *

“Evening, Molly.” 

Sherlock had snuck up on her when she left the hospital pharmacy. It was rather clumsy of her to go around it this way. More people than he and John must have noticed by now. She was pretty new to the whole thing though and, maybe that was the biggest difference between them, benzodiazepine substances weren’t illegal. Still, buying online was more discreet. And convenient. 

And this was not what he was here to talk to her about.

“Sherlock? Hi!” Molly blushed and dropped the small bag she just had bought. Sherlock caught it before if hit ground and gave it back to her.

“Thank you,” she said, stuffing the bag down her handbag. “Ehm, do you need me to let you into the morgue or, or something?”

The question was tempting. Really tempting. John hadn’t let him near a corpse since the pool incident. He could probably do this in the morgue just as well as anywhere else. 

No. No, he couldn’t do this in the morgue, he reminded himself. Too many distractions. 

“Coffee?” Sherlock offered instead, putting on one of his best smiles.

“Really?” She looked somewhere between flattered and confused.

“Really. I know a place.” He took a small step to come around beside her and pointed with his hand to the left. “This way.”

He was a bit bothered that his first version of this could just as well have been planned and designed by Mycroft. Realising this, he had quickly changed the kidnapping into this ambush/coffee repertoire. It had taken him almost four days to find a good location; secluded enough for them not to be seen but still public enough to not make her feel cornered. Also, the place had to sell high quality coffee and preferably some pastries or cakes. 

She seemed to like it. Sherlock didn’t, not as anything other than a good strategic location anyway. John would like it though, like it a lot. Maybe he should tell him about it and he could bring one of his women on a date? Not important now. He ordered coffee and sweets for the both of them. He didn’t need to ask her how she took her coffee, he knew that already. 

“So…” Molly said, wrapping her fingers around a green coffee cup. She used it as a shield, which was understandable. Perhaps. 

“Yes. So,” Sherlock said, putting sugar in his coffee. 

Silence.

Maybe it would have been good to let John do this after all? He was much… chattier. No, John didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. Would hopefully never understand. 

“Is this a date?”

“No.” Sherlock shook his head. To other people that must have been a fair question even though Sherlock found it stupid. Living with John made wonders with his patience, he noticed.

“Figured.” Molly forced a smile. “What is it, then?”

Sherlock gave the bag from the pharmacy (or rather her handbag in which it was placed) a look.

“Oh. That.” Molly blushed, a different kind of blushing than before when he had asked her to coffee. She looked ashamed. “It’s nothing. I’ve just had trouble sleeping since… since… It’s just temporary.”

“It was seven months ago.”

“Really? It feels like last week.” Molly’s smile was weak when she said it. Forced. Embarrassed.

“It’s a controlled drug.” Sherlock wished he didn’t sound as lecturing as he knew he did. It could just as well have been Anderson receiving that comment at a crime scene. He didn’t mean to do that.

“I know, I am a doctor,” she huffed.

“I’m sorry,” he said and she stared surprised at him. Was that so out of character for him?

“It’s… okay,” she said. Sherlock wondered if it was or if she said it just because it was him. Didn’t really matter, he had to stop stalling. 

“I’m going to show you something, but you have to promise me to not tell John.” Yes, John couldn’t know. It was enough that he suspected it. Strangely, he wished that Mycroft knew about it. Archenemy or not, Sherlock had to admit that in some situations Mycroft was better at looking after him than he was.

“I promise,” Molly said.

Sherlock didn’t doubt her for a second. He sat up straight and started to fold up his left shirt sleeve until it passed his elbow. He held out his bare forearm for her to see and there, among many small white scars and old puncture wounds, was the undoubtedly marks after three recent needle marks. 

Molly gasped and put one hand over her mouth. Obviously she saw that he hadn’t been donating blood recently (she was a doctor after all as she had pointed out) and he rolled down his sleeve again. John would go crazy if he knew. As stated before, he would never understand.

“Heroin,” he said in a hushed voice to her unspoken question. “Don’t worry about it, I have it under control.”

“Control?” she asked in disbelief. He’d noticed that people had problems understanding (or believing?) that. 

“Yes.” He nodded shortly, but did nothing to explain what he meant. It would only lead this down the wrong path. “I’ve had it under control for six years. These last months haven’t been that different from any other period during these years.”

It was a lie, but he knew she couldn’t tell. The months since the incident at the pool had been like no others. For the first time in six years had he used heroin for something else than to cure boredom. That was why he wished Mycroft knew about it. Just in case. He had it under control though; that wasn’t a lie. He was never going to let it become out of control again. 

“Sherlock…” she whispered as he rolled the sleeve down and buttoned the cuff. He looked up at her, smiling slightly. She was actually cute when she was shocked and concerned.

“This isn’t about me,” he said, erasing the smile from his face. “As I said, I have it under control. Now. But I’ve been there and I know how hard it is to break this kind of habit on your own.”

It became silent again. Molly looked like she tried to consume her coffee with her eyes by staring at it and Sherlock, in turn, watched her with almost the same intensity. 

“You got help?” she said finally, taking Sherlock by surprise. He had just let his mind wander off to other things. Good thing she pulled him back. He wasn’t done. It was really hard to do this when he had decided to not deceive and trick her into doing something. It had been so much more interesting to do it that way. So much more Mycroft too and he didn’t want that.

“Yes.”

“By John?”

No. Damn it, Molly! It couldn’t possible by John. He hadn’t known John six years ago. He had known Molly longer than he’d known John and not even that was close to six years. There was no possible way it could have been John. Think woman, think! Lestrade had just started to realise that he needed him though and that had, when looking back at it, been a nudge in the right direction. 

Instead of saying any of that he shook his head.

“No, it was my brother.” There was a sigh behind the confession and he hoped it didn’t come through. “He had me admitted when I was 22. Then again when I was 25 and finally, six years ago, he helped me get clean.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” she said, focusing on the wrong part. Why did people always do that? Mycroft’s existence was never the most important part of any conversation.

“We don’t get along,” he said, making a complicated relationship sound almost mundane. So many siblings didn’t get along. 

“Because of… this?”

“Because of many things.” That ought to be vague enough for her to understand that she wasn’t supposed to ask about Mycroft. 

“Is it… eh… was it hard?” Molly’s voice trembled, but Sherlock was impressed that she kept looking at him. Maybe she was stronger than he had thought? For her sake, he hoped so. He wondered if she wanted the real answer or if she wanted an encouraging one, wrapped in cellophane and tide with a pink bow. Probably the latter. It would be interesting to see if he would be able to provide one with false encouragement if he really wanted to. He had to try that on John sometime because this was a bad place for experiments of that sort. 

This was altogether a bad place.

“It is by far one of the most unpleasant things I’ve ever put myself through,” he admitted seriously.

“Then why did you start again?”

Fair question. He wished it wasn’t. Thinking about it, he had never spoken to anyone about this before; not like this at least. It felt very odd.

“Would you believe me if I said I got bored?” he asked with something between a smile and a smirk.

“Yes,” she said, giving him a faint smile in return. “But no.”

His smile became pleased. Maybe she was one of the more intelligent ones after all? The first two times he had been forced into rehab he’d had no motivation to stay clean. The decision to get clean hadn’t even been his. The third time it had been he seeking out Mycroft for help and his sporadic work with the police had been incentive (and stimulating) enough for him to stay clean. Until he got bored out of his mind of course, but he had it under control. 

He did. 

“Is it hard to… to stay away from it afterwards?”

“Some days,” Sherlock said, giving his arm a telling look. “Because some days the long term consequences don’t matter and all you wish for is an easy way out. Those days when you can’t see a tomorrow, when nothing seems to matter anymore… those days are hard. The hardest.”

“What do you do on those days?” 

Besides shooting up, she meant? Hadn’t he just shown her what he did on hard days? Honestly, he didn’t get to keep his faith in her intelligence for long periods of time. Or did she think he had more of them? Bad days when he didn’t puncture a vein? Did she have that much faith in him? He looked at her for a long time and realised that she did. She was right, but that didn’t mean people had that high opinion about him.

At times he didn’t have that high opinion about himself.

“I steel things from the morgue,” he confessed with an exposed look on his face. “Or make a surprise visit to Scotland Yard and annoy anyone who’s close enough. Lately I’ve started to hide John’s things in odd places of the flat.”

Molly laughed. First just a giggle, then an actual laugh. Sherlock wasn’t sure he’d heard more than a nervous giggle from her before.

“You don’t fall back if you don’t let yourself do so,” he said, managing to sound as convinced as he was. “You’re a kind-hearted woman, Molly, with a well above average intelligence” – yes, most people didn’t have a doctor’s degree, he had to give her that – “and you shouldn’t let people tell you otherwise. Not even me.”

“You’ve never…” Molly started, red from ear to ear because of what Sherlock just had said, but broke off mid-sentence because of the glare Sherlock gave her. They both knew he thought almost everyone in the world was beyond stupid. 

For a moment Sherlock hesitated, it felt like he couldn’t emphasise what he was going to say next enough. This was the part that probably differed from when (if) none addicts would talk to her about it. Not to mention that it differed from almost everything one was ever told by society when it came to any type of addiction.

“I understand if you feel like you need this, I do. It’s even possible that you do need it, I don’t know,” he said, feeling un-easy admitting that he didn’t know. “That said, I do think it’s a waste. Of you… and of the pills, for that matter.”

Molly had closed her eyes but it didn’t stop slow tears from rolling down her cheeks. Sherlock hated crying, he never knew what to do. What he felt like doing was never what the rest of the world expected him to do. Comforting with physical contact wasn’t really his cup of tea and trying to do it with words almost always made it worse. 

So he pretended he didn’t see the tears. It felt kindest.

“I don’t think I’m ready to let it go yet,” Molly whispered when she finally dried her eyes on a napkin. It surprised Sherlock to hear, but he nodded. This hadn’t been an intervention after all, it had been a helping hand and a way to show that she wasn’t alone. 

“No one is asking you to,” he said, even offering a smile in comfort as he realised that she had most likely accepted his unspoken offer to help out when (or if) she decided to stop. If that was really the case he was thrilled that she didn’t decide to quit here and now. She had to stop when she was ready, not when he found the time to talk to her.

He was pretty sure she would come to that decision in less than one month now that she knew she had at least someone to see her through it. Benzodiazepine withdrawal was a lot more draw-out process than what he had ever experienced with heroin, but he would be there for her. 

He wondered if John would be comfortable discussing a hypothetical withdrawal schedule with him. Undoubtedly he would help if Sherlock told him it was for Molly, but Sherlock wasn’t sure how much he wanted to involve their friend yet. Getting a schedule would be practical though. Then he had to do some research to see if this was something that could be managed by OTC drugs or if he needed to “borrow” John’s prescription rights. If he decided to keep John outside all of this of course, otherwise the good doctor could write the prescriptions himself.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” Molly said with a faint smile and Sherlock smiled back at her. Unfortunately, and uncharacteristically, Sherlock was in a total lack of words. Few people had ever thanked him so dearly and earnestly as Molly did in this moment and it made him lose focus.

“I should go,” Sherlock said when he got his words back. He wanted to ask her if she could let him into the morgue now as she had talked about before, but he realised that it wouldn’t be appropriate. 

“Eh… y-yes,” Molly stuttered and started to gather her things as well. None of them had even tasted their coffee. So much for that research. 

“If something comes up—” Sherlock scribbled down his phone number on a napkin. “—this is my number.”

“I have your number,” she said, blushing in embarrassment again. “From your website.”

“Ah, yes… I should probably not have it there,” he thought out loud. Not that there were many Sherlock Holmes in the phone book, but still, that part had been way to easy for Moriarty.

“I see you later, Molly,” Sherlock said with a quick smile before leaving her alone in the coffee shop. Maybe he shouldn’t leave her alone? He wasn’t sure it would be better to be left with him though; she needed to think, perhaps gather some strength and likely take some of the pills she had bought earlier. Yes, she was better off alone than with him, she’d never indulge the addiction with him around and benzodiazepine and sudden withdrawal was not a good idea.

Sherlock decided that he was going to give her a month to come to a decision; he didn’t think she’d need all that time. If she needed more time he had to re-evaluate the situation. The biggest problem he saw right now was how he was going to get John off his back about this without needing to tell him that he had actually done something.


End file.
